Home
by thesarge400
Summary: Reach was a home to many. Follow the stories of marines, Reach's navy, and civilians as they all fought for what they had left. Their home. First Halo story in a long time, enjoy. Open to all types of criticism.
1. Home

Home

My first Halo story in a long time, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the Halo universe, at all. Nor do I make money from any of this.

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**Epsilon Erdani System. Planet Reach. Aboard UNSC Cruiser **_**Arcturus.**_

The dead husks of hundreds of once-proud UNSC warships floated in the void of space, charred from plasma and derelict. Their crews either have long abandoned their vessels, or perished with them. Thousands of great men and women, commanders and subordinates alike, gave their lives to defend one of the last few homes mankind had. They gave their lives in a fight against one of the most dominant, technologically superior enemies man has ever witnessed.

The Covenant.

A coalition of different alien species from all over the known and unknown universe, with only one goal in their sights. The utter destruction of all mankind. When the UNSC first made contact with these aliens, they only received this cryptic message from their ship, translated into English.

_Your destruction is the will of the Gods… And we, are their instrument._

Lieutenant Commander David Jackson stood upon the bridge and gazed hopelessly upon the destroyed vessels as they appeared through his monitor. Their IFF tags still were functioning, and each ship was identified, their commander listed, and the number of crew onboard. Jackson felt like he was rummaging through dead corpses.

UNSC Frigate _Betsy Ross. _Commander: Commander Kaleb Bates. Crew: 87.

UNSC Frigate _Savannah. _Commander: Commander Bruce Phelps. Crew: 96.

UNSC Cruiser _Southern Star. _Commander: Captain Rebecca Dane. Crew: 403.

UNSC Carrier _Second Dawn. _Commander: Rear Admiral Patrick Ward. Crew: 2259.

The commanders onboard these vessels were dead for sure, along with most of their crew. UNSC personnel were proud, and most would demand to go down with their boats rather than leave their crews to perish. They wanted to give everything to protect what little they had left.

Covenant ships groundside were now glassing the planet with pillars of plasma, burning anything and anyone to oblivion. Great cities crumbled, mighty soldiers fell. Nothing was safe from a driven monster powered with brutality. Jackson knew Spartans, the UNSC's much-fabled super-soldiers, were fighting on the ground a hopeless fight. But along with these Spartans, stood marines, ODSTs, and even civilians taking up arms to fight against a tidal wave that wouldn't stop until everything was consumed.

Jackson's heart burned. He had lived on Reach all his life, he was born there, he joined the navy there, he trained there, and Jackson would've died there if Naval higher-ups weren't forcing him and his crew to make a hasty retreat. He could remember the orders clearly. Abandon all defensive positions. Retreat back to Earth. Bolster Home Fleet.

"Sir." First Lieutenant Amanda Bern called out. Her uniform was crisp and clean, but her red hair unkempt and sweat dripped down her forehead. She knew the Covenant was looking for the _Arcturus._ "Scan complete, sir. No escape pods found. Just chunks of titanium."

"Scan it again. I'm not leaving anyone behind." The Lieutenant Commander replied slowly as he straightened out his uniform, his hands brushed over two of his medals. The Purple Heart and the Congressional Medal of Honor. He earned the former from a plasma bombardment on Reach, burning nearly half of his body while he struggled with civilian evacuations. The latter was a different story.

They handed these things out like candy now, the Medal of Honor. Jackson guessed to boost morale of the civilians back on Earth, making nearly everyone seem like heroes, 'putting themselves in danger for the salvation of mankind itself.'

To Jackson, it was all bullshit. He didn't earn it, or at least he didn't feel like he did. If you earn it by watching friends burnt to a crisp by plasma, buildings full of people crumble and fall, and seeing the most powerful human fleet get ripped apart and destroyed like the ships were nothing more than pesky flies, then David Jackson was a damned hero. He briefly considered removing the medal and slamming it against the bridge's viewport, but decided against it. The crew needed a cool-headed leader, as all of them were high-strung from watching Reach burn. High-strung was a bit of an understatement, as most of them were Reach-born too. Including Lieutenant Bern.

Bern turned to her commanding officer, "Sir, we can't afford to sit here and search dead ships while the Covies look for us. We're going to get-"

Jackson glared at the woman and snapped back at her. He barely was able to contain his searing anger, "Do your job, Lieutenant. Your brothers and sisters are out there in those ships, dead or dying. Your family gave their lives to defend this planet, in those very 'chunks of titanium.' Some may still be out there. Give them a chance; they would have done the same for you."

Bern sniffed and turned back to her console, "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Don't be." Jackson nodded as he looked back towards Reach. Her oceans boiled, her land reduced to glass, skies burnt bright red from the raging fires and what was left of the cities like New Alexandria were invaded, pillaged, wiped off the map. He could remember his wife's final transmission, from the top of the ONI Headquarters in New Alexandria, just before it was completely glassed.

Her panicked message came late at night or early in the morning - he didn't know. But he would remember what she said. Janet's voice was filled with fear as she told him about the condition of the city.

"_Oh my god! The just hit the hospital!"_

Just imagining a building burned with a plasma bombardment from a Covenant Cruiser wasn't pretty, but a hospital? But the aliens didn't care, as long as they destroyed anything built by man. Jackson clenched his fists.

"_Most of the inner metropolitan area has been glassed, along with any of the remaining evacuation sites. All of the remaining evac vessels have been shot down."_

When Jackson heard this the first time, all he heard was his wife, but when he focused on the memory, he could hear others in the background. His eyes closed as hard as he could, remembering how the city burned.

"_Ma'am?" A male voice called out. "We got someone requesting to use the elevator to the ground floor. They say they're Spartans. Noble team or something."_

"_Let them down, now!" Janet yelled back as she continued her transmission. "David, the Covenant are moving in! Where are those Frigates?"_

He didn't know what to tell her at the time, though he knew that the Frigates were destroyed en-route.

"_Baby, the Frigates are on their way, but you need to get out of that building."_

"_Oh god, the Cruiser's coming our way!"_

_Jackson pleaded with his wife again, "Janet! Get out now!"_

"_I can't. We're still dumping files and the elevator is still climbing a hundred damn floors!"_

_The sound of a Covenant plasma cannon charging filled the transmission._

_Janet screamed over the radio as loud as she could, the sound of destruction attempting to choke her out. "David, I love you!" Her voice perished after that, the transmission cut._

Jackson's hands trembled as he stood on the bridge of his ship. His wife had been dead for three days now, the ONI Headquarters fell with her. These alien freaks killed his wife and destroyed everything, and now he was being forced to retreat.

Looking back up with composure, Jackson saw through the viewport of the _Arcturus _the aliens burning away anything that was left, burning fires crisscrossed across the surface, their little trademark. Moisture stung the Lieutenant Commander's eyes.

"Sir. Scan complete. Still no escape pods, and contact with the Cruiser _Cassiopeia _has been lost. Four Covenant Cruisers are pulling up from the planet's surface, heading our way." Bern reported as her eyes darted from panel to panel across her console, her hands were shaking violently. She didn't want to die.

Jackson sighed as he removed his cap and dropped it to the cold, steel floor. "Alright." He began sullenly, defeated. "We're pulling back. Set the _Arcturus _for three random slipspace jumps before setting coordinates to Earth."

"Aye, Commander."

He could feel the shift of his vessel in his gut as it changed its course and prepared the slipspace drives for a jump. Taking one look back, Lieutenant Commander David Jackson looked up at Reach.

His home.

Now gone.

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It's good to be back on the Halo section again.

Review and such.


	2. Groundside

Groundside

Disclaimer is in the first chapter. Enjoy.

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_**Epsilon Eridani System, Planet Reach. Redbrick Plaza, New Alexandria. August 23**__**rd**__**, 2552.**_

_The anti-air missiles traced into the sky, straight for the waiting Covenant Corvette. They impacted the dark violet hull of the alien ship, exploding immediately. The Corvette nosed over and began its descent towards Reach's distant ocean._

_Lance Corporal Darren 'Dirty' Crane couldn't contain his joy as he lowered his assault rifle, hooting loudly into the air, "Wooo! Take that, you sumbitches! Can't mess with superior firepower, now can you?"_

"_Dirty, shut the hell up!" Staff Sergeant Bret Marshall hissed as he turned to the overexcited marine. "Incase you haven't realized yet, we still got a damn job to do."_

_Marshall couldn't afford to have the team, or what was left of it, be given away. They still had to save any civilians within their designated sector of the city, and get them to the last active evac position. Olympic Tower, ONI Headquarters. The tower itself was merely a dozen or so blocks from Redbrick Plaza, but with all the destruction, it appeared to be light-years away to the Staff Sergeant._

_The fighting had been nonstop ever since the Covies broke orbital defenses. They sent advance teams of Brutes and Skirmishers, these were the so-called 'Death Squads,' as their mission was to kill, kill, and kill. Any human, whether it be marine, officer, or civilian, would be cut down with staggeringly brutality and efficiency._

_And it was up to what was left of the 533__rd__ Infantry Division, or the 'Wolf Pack' as they were referred to, to get anyone remaining within the plaza area out. Easier said then done. The Commanding Officer of the Wolf Pack, Lieutenant Colonel Gutierrez, was picked off by a sniper two weeks ago. The Executive officer, Major Wallace, was subsequently killed in a plasma bombardment three days later. After that, Command scattered the Wolf Pack allover New Alexandria. _

_Contact was lost with all of the other squads, as some were sent to soon-to-be glassed parts of the city. Marshall couldn't bear the screams he heard over the radio, marines begging to be picked up and taken away… only to get seared by pillars of plasma into nothingness a few moments later._

_And with that, Staff Sergeant Marshall lifted his head above the overturned car that he took cover behind and hissed back to Dirty, "Now, move out soldier. Check out that warehouse, it looks like it's locked up. Possible civvies inside."_

_Dirty rolled his eyes as he sprinted towards the warehouse, with Jacoby close behind him._

_Corporal Dave Jacoby was an ODST from a unit called the 'Bullfrogs' and he was separated from them after they ran into a huge squad of Brutes. He was found by Marshall and was folded up into the squad. Jacoby still donned the standard-issue ODST helmet and not once has he shown his face. But Marshall was glad to have him on board… the Sergeant needed all the men he could get. It was only him, Jacoby, Dirty, and Sam left. Everyone else was dead or gone. Either killed in the intense fighting, or separated._

_Marshall secretly wished the former happened to most of his squad, but he wasn't that lucky. Too many men died in front of him._

_Sergeant Sam Jenner was the designated marksman of the squad, as the only to carry a DMR. Sam's cool head had saved Marshall's ass twice in the past two weeks and he didn't even want a thank-you in return. He just wanted to get off Reach in one piece. _

_Sam wasn't born here though, not on Reach, not like Marshall or Dirty. He was an 'Earthy,' or Earth-born soldier. They both knew what they were fighting for, Sam didn't. They fought for their home, or what was left of it. What did Sam fight for? A paycheck? Earth was in the Covenant's sights, but not under the immediate threat of utter destruction._

_Dirty rapped his knuckles against the metal door of the warehouse and yelled, "UNSC, open up! We're here to get you guys to the extraction zone!"_

_Sighing, Marshall leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. He pressed the back of his head against the metal building and looked up. Fires burned on the upper floors of some of the skyscrapers, with burning papers and ash streaming down from them like confetti. He never imagined that his home city would turn into this. Saying it was hard to take in was a major understatement._

_The warehouse door slid open and out came at least a dozen civilians, covered in ash, blood, or dirt. Their eyes were tired, there bodies bloodied, but they looked like a strong group. Most carried military-grade weapons, ranging from shotguns to rifles to pistols, no doubt picked up from corpses of fallen marines. The Staff Sergeant noticed two small children within the group, giving frightened looks toward the group of soldiers at the door._

_One civilian ignored Dirty and Jacoby and approached Marshall. He wore a dark green hoodie, blue jeans, and a black bandana on his head. A long, fresh scar traced across his left cheek. Several grenades were clipped to the belt around his jeans, and a DMR rested on his shoulder by a sling. "You the one in charge here?"_

_Marshall looked up and climbed to his feet and nodded, "Yeah. Staff Sergeant Marshall. And you are?"_

"_Derrik Varga." He replied back, his accent reverberated in his voice slightly. "You here to get us out?"_

_Marshall smiled. Right to the point. "Yeah. Final evacuation site is at Olympic Tower. We're here to get you guys out of here."_

_Derrik grinned, "Then what are we waiting for?"_

_

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_

**New Alexandria. Olympic Tower, Arcadian Plaza. August 23****rd****, 2552.**

That was six hours ago.

Since then, everything had gone to hell. Covenant patrols were attacking any and all vehicles that could fly. Falcons and Pelicans alike fell from the sky occasionally, fuel rod blasts had ripped through their hulls like paper. On their journey to the Tower, most of the direct routes had been blocked off by debris or collapsed buildings. This forced Marshall to take time-consuming, alternate streets and every so often, a Covenant sniper would take a cheap-shot at the group. Two civilians had been killed so far.

And worst still, it was raining. Hard.

Marshall peered out from the alley and scanned the area. It was a straight shot for Olympic Tower, no major debris in the way. He looked toward the top of the tower and he smiled when he saw Pelicans waiting in the many hangers near the top. Their lights flashed, meaning someone was inside the bird, ready to pilot it.

He turned back and nodded to Jacoby, Sam, and Dirty. They moved front as Marshall ordered, "Move it."

As the group of marines and civilians alike approached, Marshall noticed increased aerial activity. A lone Falcon flew by at skyscraper level, shooting at Banshees and AA turrets alike. A Banshee exploded overhead, what was left of it hurtled to the ground. Then another, then another. Covie AA fire quickly ceased thereafter.

Then a Pelican left one of the hangers, its thrusters burning white-hot as it lifted off. Marshall's jaw dropped as Sam uttered, "What the hell are they doing?"

Dirty answered him quickly, "What does it look like? They're leaving us behind!"

The final Pelican took off and flew away from the Tower at full speed as soon as the group got to the base of the building. Marshall halted and fell to his knees, out of breath.

"God damn it!" He hissed as he looked up into the rain. That was it. No way off now. This was the final evac station, the last resort. The only option left. And now they were left behind.

Derrik approached the Staff Sergeant, "What now, Sergeant?"

Marshall laughed an empty laugh. The marine removed his helmet and rubbed a hand through his black hair. "Nothing's next. That was it, Mr. Varga. Last Pelican in the entire area just took off."

Sam looked around the area grimly. Bodies littered the entrance to Olympic Tower, civilians and marines piled into one, gory mass. "Looks like they didn't want anyone else inside anyways. Front door's locked. Covies had a goddamned turkey shoot down here."

"Why would they lock the doors to the final evac point?" Jacoby uttered as he looked at the bodies and shuddered.

"Because, man!" Dirty yelled back, his voice shrill with fear and rage. "This is 'ONI Headquarters!' The only people getting out of here were top brass. We're the ones who are screwed, man! We're all screwed! Dead! We'll be gutted by the Brutes or burnt away with fire, man!"

One of the female civilians dropped her weapon and began to cry. Derrik turned to comfort her as Marshall stormed over and shoved Dirty to the ground hard. "Get a hold of yourself, Corporal! It's our job to keep these people safe, not scare them. What's wrong with you?"

Dirty wouldn't reply as he got back to his feet and retrieved his weapon.

Marshall was prepared to shove him back down again when Jacoby called out, "Sergeant Marshall? We got a long-range radio here!"

Stowing his anger, Marshall turned to the Shock Trooper and questioned, "A long-range radio? To what?"

Jacoby grinned behind his silver visor, "Fleet radio, sir. If there are any major vessels still left in Reach's orbit, maybe, just maybe we can get in contact with a Frigate. Hell, maybe even a Cruiser. 'Course, I'll take a goddamned Pelican at this point."

The ODST kicked a body onto its face to reveal a large radio system strapped to the dead soldier's back. Amazingly, it looked undamaged. Jacoby removed the radio and attempted to activate it, but nothing happened. The Bullfrog grumbled as he tried again, to no avail.

Sam turned to the group of civilians, "Anyone here work with radios? At all?"

One raised his hand, the woman who was crying not moments ago.

"I am." She replied as she approached him. "I worked with my father, repairing the various signal stations in the countryside. I know smaller radios like that as if they're the back of my hand."

Jacoby glanced at Marshall, who gave a nod of approval. He handed the radio to the woman as lightning flashed across the sky. She cleared her throat as she inspected the device and then kindly requested, "I need something to cover it from the rain. It looks like I'll have to open it up."

Dirty approached and removed his combat vest and handed it to the woman. "I'm sorry about before, Miss. I was being an ass. This ain't much, but I think it's waterproof."

The civilian smiled and nodded as she grabbed the vest from the marine and placed it over the radio. "Thank you. I can tell you're on edge, as we all are."

With that, she opened a panel on the radio and inspected the insides carefully. She reached one hand inside and rearranged several wires. Then, she shut the panel up and reached for the antenna, fully extending it. Tapping away at the controls for a moment, she pressed one final button and the radio hummed back to life. Smiling broadly, she lifted the radio into the air, "We're in business."

Marshall retrieved the radio and ordered Sam to start going through the frequencies as he listened. It felt like hours as they sifted through the static, repeating automated emergency messages, and false transmissions. He was beginning to lose any hope as more and more static filled the radio waves.

"_This is Delta One-Nine! We are under heavy fire and need assistance! We got a large number of Brute Death Squads here! Heavy casualties, repeat. Heavy casualties!"_

Sam glared at Marshall, who just shook his head and said to keep searching frequencies. There was nothing they could do for Delta.

"…_is Foehammer. Does anyone…"_

"Go back." Marshall ordered as he listened very carefully. The voice was too calm to be a distress signal, too cool and professional. It the first beacon of hope he had gotten in nearly half an hour of searching.

"…_I repeat. This is Foehammer. To anyone remaining within New Alexandria, we are ready, willing, and able to pick up anyone still alive and receiving this transmission. Please respond, over." _The voice was calm and female. It could've been the voice of God for all Marshall cared.

Marshall pressed down on the transmitter as soon as the voice stopped speaking. "Foehammer, I'm glad to hear a friendly voice out here."

The transmission switched from the voice of 'Foehammer' to another female. She sounded hostile and extremely strained, _"Who is this? Respond. Now."_

"Excuse me?" Marshall gaped before he could stop himself. No one spoke to him like that. "Who is _this_?"

The voice replied curtly. _"This is Captain Harriet Dalton. Current commanding officer of the UNSC Cruiser __**Arcturus**__. Now, who is this?"_

"Ma'am. Sorry about that. Staff Sergeant Marshall of the Wolf Pack." He replied nervously to the Captain. "Any reason why you're onboard a Pelican, ma'am? Shouldn't you be supporting what's left of the Fleet?"

A hoarse laugh came across the radio. _"I wasn't going to sit and watch as people died on the ground. Nor as my planet died. When I couldn't get any more Pelicans from my own vessel, I had a good friend from the __**Pillar of Autumn**__ donate a bird and her pilot, I decided to tag along."_

The voice from before came back on. _"Echo Four-Nineteen. But you can call me Foehammer."_

Captain Dalton came back on, _"We're already crammed full of civilians, but we won't leave people behind. Where are you right now?"_

Marshall smiled as he replied, "We are just outside Olympic Tower."

"_ONI HQ, huh?" _Foehammer huffed. _"Those final evac sites were bogus, huh?"_

"You can say that again."

"_Well you're in luck, Sergeant Marshall. We're close enough to come and get you. ETA five minutes."_

Gunfire and explosions ripped through the air, only blocks away. Then growls from Brutes and cackles from Skirmishers could be heard. Covies were closing in.

"Well, ma'am. You better make it quick, cuz we got a whole ton of shit coming our way." Marshall ripped off the headset and grabbed his assault rifle and started yelling orders, "Sam, get to a good vantage point and get us some sort of sniper fire. Jacoby and Dirty, get all your explosives ready, I don't want these Brutes getting too close. Varga, get any of the unarmed civilians to safety, anyone who has a gun, get on line. You're fighting."

Everyone sprinted off as Marshall crouched down and pressed himself against a low concrete wall and checked the ammo indicator on his weapon. 32. Full magazine. He tapped his vest and checked what he had left. Three grenades, his combat knife, three assault mags left, and his pistol. He didn't have any ammo left for his sidearm; the Staff Sergeant would have to make those final eight rounds count. Finally, he looked up to the sky and said a silent prayer. Divine intervention was definitely needed.

"_Sir, I'm in position." _Sam called out over the comm. _"I see Covies coming down the main road, directly north. We got four Brutes, ten Skirmishers, and about two dozen Grunts."_

"Any Elites?"

"_Negative, sir. None that I can see."_

Elites were the biggest problem, not the Brutes. They were fast, strong, and extremely deadly. The Covenant's finest warriors carried swords and elaborate armor into battle. Marshall saw those swords firsthand several years back in the Outer Colonies, in a small town. The hot blade of plasma seared into his left arm badly, nearly severing it completely.

He shuddered when he thought about it.

"_Sir, they're getting closer. What are your orders?"_

Marshall huffed. "We got five minutes. Let's kill as many of the dumb sumbitches as we can."

Jacoby cackled when he heard that, "Hell yeah, sir. Hell yeah!"

Sam took aim for the first Brute and lined up his scope with the ape-like creature's cranium. He pulled the trigger, and the rifle came to life, kicking him back in the shoulder. The Brute's helmet was insufficient to protect it from the bullet. Crimson mist sprayed from the back of the alien's head as it fell to the ground.

The other aliens quickly took cover and reacted, taking cover and returning fire. Marshall ordered grenades to be thrown, with Dirty and Jacoby responded with glee. Explosions replaced the thunder from the storm, and alien bodies falling from the sky replaced the rain. Marshall fired upon a group of Grunts, who quickly scattered in fear. Two civilians gave chase, firing their pistols at the little runts.

Marshall screamed at them to get back, but bright pink beams of light struck each person in the head. Needle rounds. They fell to the ground limp, Marshall covering his eyes just before the rounds detonated.

"Damn it! Varga! Keep your people behind cover!" Marshall roared as he stood up again to fire at a Skirmisher running at him. The avian creature's chest-plate deflected the first few rounds, but one bullet finally penetrated flesh and it fell beak-first into the ground.

A shrill roar came from Marshall's side, and he turned to see another Skirmisher charging for him. It slammed into him before he could turn in time, and he hit the concrete beneath him hard, his rifle jarred from his grip. The alien roared, exposing rows of sharp, spine-like teeth.

Marshall raised his left arm to protect himself, and the Skirmisher suddenly clamped its jaw down his limb in response. The teeth dug into his skin like knives and the Sergeant screamed in pain. He then quickly reached for his knife and jammed the blade into the throat of the monster. The Skirmisher froze as the cold metal sliced through its windpipe.

Growling, Marshall shoved the beast off and sheathed his blade. Grabbing his rifle, he got back into a crouch and looked at his left arm. His blood dripped down from the multiple teeth marks as his whole limb shook. He would live.

Dirty chucked another grenade, and this time he hit his desired mark. Between the two feet of a waiting Brute. The explosion practically disintegrated the creature, with the ensuing shrapnel finishing the job. The marine just hooted as he switched back to his rifle and fired upon the remaining enemies. He then scaled over the concrete wall and walked into the open plaza, shooting at the running Grunts who retreated. A wounded Brute lay on the ground, bullets riddled its chest from a shotgun blast.

Dirty pressed his boot down on the alien's chest and sprayed four rounds into its forehead. "Stay off my planet, you freak."

"Look out!" A civilian cried to the Lance Corporal.

A Brute charged from nowhere and grabbed Dirty by the throat before sprinting again, taking the marine with it. The ape slammed Dirty against the black wall of ONI HQ as it raised its Spike Rifle and roared in the soldier's face. Dirty recoiled and gave a weak laugh as the Brute foul stench overcame him.

"Damn… All the stories were right…" He began. "You Brutes _do _smell bad."

Before the Brute could give a response, the loud clack of a shotgun being pumped resonated. Dirty could hear Jacoby hiss, "Drop him… or I drop you."

The alien turned its head and bared its teeth. Jacoby pulled the trigger and blasted the Brute, sending the ape and Dirty to the ground, red gore splattered everywhere. Dirty sputtered and coughed as he wiped away hot, red liquid from his face, "Was that really necessary, shithead?"

The ODST grinned under his helmet and lifted Dirty from the ground, "Very necessary."

The plaza became quiet; the only sounds were the patter of heavy rain and the low rumble of Covenant Cruisers in the distance, slowly getting louder.

Marshall slapped a new magazine into his weapon as Sam yelled over the radio, _"Shit! We got new contacts. Two dozen Brutes, plus change! It's a whole 'nother company!"_

Brutes, Grunts, Skirmishers, and now Jackals and Hunters poured into the plaza like a flood. Every Covenant in the area was thirsty for blood. And they were prepared to go and get it. Plasma flew from every direction, explosions from poorly-thrown plasma grenades rattled the ground. One civilian threw his gun to the ground and screamed in what sounded like Hungarian, wrapping his hands around his head and sprinting off. Marshall charged and yanked the man to the ground as he tried to get past him.

"What the hell are you doing?" The Staff Sergeant screamed as bursts of plasma whizzed over their heads. The man shouted something again and punched Marshall square in the jaw. With the marine disoriented, the civilian stood up and ran again. He was quickly met with lances of fiery blue plasma. Seared flesh perforated Marshall's nose as the man fell to his knees, the aliens still firing at him, before he finally hit the ground dead.

"_Sergeant Marshall, this is Foehammer. We're coming in hot, keep your head down."_

A Pelican soared in through the rain, flying dangerously close in-between buildings before it hovered over the plaza. Its nose-mounted rotary cannon began to spin with a mechanical whir. Derrik grabbed the two children and covered them with his body as best he could.

The rotary cannon aboard the Pelican unleashed, spraying hot lead across the plaza. Covenant dropped like flies, Jackal shields unable to protect the users from the hail of high-caliber rounds, Brute and Grunt armor insufficient as well. Any living aliens returned fire, but not quickly enough to do anything significant, as a line of bullets cut them down.

Bullet casings rained down from the aircraft like metallic rain as the rotary cannon ceased fire.

Dirty smiled at the destruction of the seemingly invincible enemies, falling one by one like flies. It seemed that finally after years of bloodbath, a few of the predators became the prey.

As the Pelican began to land in the body-filled plaza, Marshall approached Derrik, who was still nervously reloading his DMR, even after the battle. "Varga? We gotta sort out your people, but kids go first, no question about it. That craft is already full of civilians."

The two children looked up to the Staff Sergeant nervously, their hands wrapped around Derrik's sleeves. Surely the parents or parent would grab their kids by now. Derrik snapped out of his daze, "Yeah… I got it."

The Pelican's ramp lowered from the craft and Marshall just realized just how crowded the ship truly was. The ten seats normally used to house marines were stripped away to make as much room as possible. Over twenty-five noncombatants were crammed inside the transport, easy. Maybe more. Inside, a woman fiercely yelled for the civilians to clear the way so she could exit the bird.

A woman with red hair tied into a tight bun stepped down from the ramp and onto the plaza. She wore a standard-issue Fleet uniform, metallic gray with several medals, commendations, and ribbons to go along with it. Her ship's circular patch rested under upon her shoulder. Three stars lined in a triangle with a sword pointing upward underneath them. White letters crowned around the stars and sword, _UNSC __**Arcturus.**_

The Captain approached Marshall, and the Staff Sergeant straightened up to attention and saluted the superior. Captain Dalton returned the salute quickly and looked over the group of civilians and sighed. "Come on, we need to move. A Covenant Cruiser is coming in, they're gonna glass Arcadian Plaza and the rest of the precinct within minutes."

Marshall nodded and yelled, "Sam! Dirty! Mr. Varga! Let's go! Civvies onboard now! We're getting out of here."

Derrik scooped up the two kids and ran for the Pelican.

Jacoby looked over the dead bodies of Covenant with gritted teeth. These bastards deserved it, every last one. They killed thousands of innocents for frankly no reason. The Bullfrog had no idea why the Covenant killed so many with feverish intent, but he was glad to have the favor returned. He kicked a dead Jackal in the teeth as he walked through the piles of corpses.

His eyes then caught something odd. A dead Elite. That was strange, considering no Elites were seen in the battle at all. He approached the corpse and whistled sharply with glee. The Elite's armor was a bright gold and very intricate, meaning this particular warrior was very, very highly-ranked. The Shock Trooper had seen the armor classifications in training manuals before, and there was no mistaking this Elite's rank. A Field Marshall.

Bullet holes riddled the alien's cracked breastplate. Jacoby could barely contain his joy as he turned his back to it and hollered towards Marshall and Dalton, "You guys need to see this! We got ourselves a Field Marshall here!"

Red mist exploded from Jacoby's chest, his gun fell from his hands. He looked down to see a white-hot blade of plasma ripped through his chest cavity. The Elite roared weakly as it rose from the ground, the plasma sword gripped tightly in its hand as it lifted the ODST off the ground. The beast clutched its now-bleeding chest with its free hand as it gave a war cry that would make most soldiers tremble in their boots. It swung its blade to the side, flinging Jacoby off the blade and to the ground hard. He rolled twice along the floor before stopping face-up, not moving.

Dalton froze at the sight as Marshall reached for his magnum. The Elite bucked its head as if daring the Sergeant to do something. He did.

Snapping off the safety to his sidearm, Marshall charged for the Elite at a full sprint. The Field Marshall clicked its four mandibles in what could be perceived as a grin as it readied itself to counter. As the human came in range, the alien swung its blade horizontally with all its might, hoping to sever the head of the marine. The Elite growled at its wounds and lost balance as he swung. Marshall ducked the hot sword easily as he slammed his shoulder into the gut of the monster.

The Elite wailed as it fell to its back, Marshall coming with it. That normally wouldn't have worked, but the Staff Sergeant figured it was weaker because of the injuries it sustained. Pushing forward with his momentum, Marshall straddled the Elite's chest and grabbed the sword-wielding wrist.

He yanked it into the air and slammed it back onto the concrete, jarring the weapon away. The plasma sword fizzled out as the handle fell from the Elite's hand. Marshall then jammed his pistol right into the 'mouth' of the Elite and roared, "GO TO HELL!"

He pulled the trigger, and the magnum responded by firing a slug right through the alien's cranium. Not stopping, the Staff Sergeant emptied the final seven rounds into the beast.

"Sergeant! Get over here!" A voice cried out, and with shaking hands, Marshall lifted himself off the dead Elite and turned to see Captain Dalton kneeling over Jacoby. He rushed over and kneeled over the ODST, to find he was still alive. Jacoby's chest rose and fell sharply, two uniform, scorched holes burnt through his armor displayed where the sword had pierced.

"…Hey there…Sergeant." Jacoby puffed out between labored breaths, in obvious pain. Even though Marshall couldn't see past the silver visor that hid the soldier's face, he knew it was twisted with agony.

"Come on, trooper. You're getting out of here." He nodded towards Captain Dalton, who grabbed his legs. The ground reverberated with shockwaves as the sky darkened, then it sounded like the sky itself was getting torn in two.

Dalton hissed as soon as the noise ceased, "Plasma bombardment! They're starting to glass what's left of the city!"

"Which direction did it come from?"

"_From what I'm getting on the comms," _Foehammer called out, _"it looks like they just took out the hospital."_

Dalton and Marshall carried the Bullfrog to the rear of the Pelican, but found it to be full of the civilians they just saved, with Dirty and Sam in the front. There was no way all of them could fit onboard, not even to get Jacoby on.

"We need room…" Marshall said out loud, panting.

Dirty immediately dropped off the Pelican and nodded, "You got room."

The Lance Corporal knew what he just did, but his wounded brother demanded immediate attention. Derrik Varga looked on as well, and knew there still wasn't enough room. Taking a deep breath, he turned to the two kids, a boy and a girl, and hugged both of them, and gave each a kiss on the temple. He whispered something in Hungarian to both of them and gave his black bandana to the boy, and his wristwatch to the girl. He kissed the woman who had worked on the radio with a desperate passion. The man then stepped away and jumped off the transport. The two children screamed for him, crying and thrashing, only to be held back by the woman he had kissed.

It dawned on Marshall as to what Derrik exactly was. He was a father, and those were his children, and the woman was his wife.

Dalton and Marshall lifted Jacoby, and with help from some of the civilians, he was set down on the metal floor of the Pelican with care. Marshall reached out one last time and gripped Jacoby's hand. "You've been given a second chance, kid. _Use it._"

With that, he let go and stepped away from the Pelican, no room for him, Dalton, Derrik, or Dirty. Sam looked back at them and attempted to step off. He wasn't going to leave his Wolf Pack behind, not like this. Marshall put a hand on his chest, keeping him onboard. "You know where you were born, Sergeant Jenner?"

Sam gulped. "Earth, Staff Sergeant. I was born on Earth."

"Then live for her. Fight for _your _home. Reach is ours, Earth is yours. We defended Reach with our lives, you do the same for Earth."

Moisture stung Sam's vision, but he nodded and got back further in the Pelican.

Foehammer called out on the radio, _"Captain Dalton? I need you back aboard so we can dust off."_

Dalton smiled, her tone somber as she replied, "Echo Four-Nineteen, I'm not coming back aboard. There's no room and I'm not forcing off innocents."

A Covenant Cruiser rumbled in the distance, the large ship approaching. The pilot called back to the superior officer with a panicked tone, _"Ma'am I can't leave you on the ground! You have a ship in-"_

"My ship is in very capable hands, that I assure you. Now take off. That's an order."

"_Captain… I…"_

"Do it, Foehammer. Get these people out of here."

"…_It's… It's been an honor serving with you, even if it was brief."_

Dalton looked like her emotions would get the best of her, but she kept them under control as she ordered, "Go. Now."

Immediately the Pelican's engines flared white-hot and the craft lifted from the ground, just as the Cruiser was making its way overhead. The transport soared off as the Cruiser's main gun began to hum, signifying that it was getting ready for a plasma bombardment.

Marshall looked all around him, at the bodies of human and Covenant alike, and up to Olympic Tower, which the Covenant Cruiser now hovered over. But most importantly, he looked to the soldiers around.

His squad mate, Lance Corporal Darren 'Dirty' Crane, stared up at the Cruiser with a stony expression. For a man so emotional in the heat of battle, he was surprisingly calm, facing the end.

The civilian, Derrik Varga, stared at a small picture in his hand, not paying attention to the world that would soon burn around him. He stared at the photo of his wife and two children with pure love. If anything, the fires of plasma wouldn't faze him, it would be not being there for his family.

The commanding officer, Captain Harriet Dalton. She looked at Marshall with a small grin before turning her attention toward the sky. She had every opportunity to go aboard the Pelican and leave Reach, back to her vessel waiting either in orbit somewhere or in space. The Captain would stay and perish with her planet, and to her, that was a bigger honor than any medal she could earn.

And finally, back to himself. The Staff Sergeant. Staff Sergeant Bret Marshall stared at the ground. A plasma grenade had destroyed the cement and exposed black dirt underneath. He kneeled over and grabbed a handful of it. To him, it symbolized all he had fought for in the years he had been in the UNSC. He removed his helmet and squeezed the dirt in his hand. He fought for _this_. He fought for everything this handful of earth had represented.

Home. Family. Brotherhood. Love. Life itself.

Reach meant this much, and even more, to the Staff Sergeant. And not even the word proud could describe what he felt.

He looked back up, and the Cruiser unleashed a fire like no other.

* * *

**July 14th, 2589. Planet Reach. **

She looked up at the statue that lay in front of her. It wasn't in the right place. But hell, she figured they wouldn't know the exact location. But she did. One hundred and twenty-six meters from this very spot, was where Arcadian Plaza was glassed thirty-seven years ago. But she gave them credit for putting it up so quickly

She chuckled again as she stared at the lone, bronze man standing tall, his rifle in hand, his helmet on head. As well as she could remember, this wasn't what he looked like, but they came pretty close, but his nose was slightly different, not as big as they portrayed.

Never, in her whole life, would she imagine going back to Reach. They said it was burnt to ashes and glass, never to be used again, but here she was. There was no inscription, at least not yet, but the fact that mankind remembered these people was amazing.

Elania Varga approached the statue and placed her hand along the bronze leg of the frozen soldier.

"Thank you…" She whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek. "Thank you, Dad. And thank you… Sergeant Marshall. For giving us all a chance. For giving us a little hope."

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	3. Missing In Action

Missing In Action

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**Outer Space, above Planet Reach. Aboard UNSC Cruiser **_**Greed of Midas.**_

The _Midas _floated silently in space, running with most systems shut down or at minimum power, to maximize stealth and minimize the chance of getting blown into scrap. The bridge was dark, only with a few of the terminals running on low provided a faint blue glow. Commander Jonathan Gutierrez scratched his chin nervously as he looked out the viewport into space. Dead hulks of titanium brushed past the hull before drifting away, but one flew past the viewport for long enough to be caught by the Commander's eye.

The UNSC Frigate _Golden Gate_.

Jonathan had heard of that particular Frigate. It was supposed to guard the civilian transports as they left orbit, but when the convoy was blocked by a single Covie ship, the _Golden Gate _and her crew spent every last MAC round they had left on the enemy Cruiser, and then drew the alien vessel away from the escaping innocents. Looks like the bastards found them.

It was bravery like that, that inspired Jonathan to join up at eighteen. That and the desire to kill every alien bastard in the Covenant. The Commander had signed up as a marine and was about to get shipped off with a division for some Outer Colony, until a high-ranked officer got a hold of his technical scores. He was whisked away from his marines and pulled into the Navy as an officer. With most of original fleet destroyed and its best commanders dead, it made sense that they would need anyone who seemed to have potential.

And now he was in command of a Marathon-class Cruiser. He wasn't supposed to be, not at all. Captain Jay MacKenneth was the original C.O. of the _Midas_, but he decided that the fight he was in wasn't worth it. He locked himself in his personal quarters and put a pistol in his mouth. Some say it was PTSD that drove him to suicide, others say he cracked from the pressure of having to defend an entire planet from destruction.

Regardless of whatever the cause, it was now Jonathan's responsibility to take the reigns in the middle of a war zone.

He held his breath as a gargantuan Covenant Supercarrier floated overhead, as if searching for prey. They had been in this sector for the past hour and a half, and Jonathan had kept the ship running dark for that time. Going up against multiple capital ships wasn't a bright idea. Especially with Reach's defense fleet in literal chunks.

He stepped over to one of the terminals manned by a young Lieutenant with bright red hair. Jonathan pressed a hand on the young man's shoulder, "What do you got for me, Serra?"

Second Lieutenant Lucas Serra's face was solid as steel as his eyes scanned the darkened screen in front of him, projecting a low blue hue over his face. "The carrier above us is going groundside. But over here," He tapped the screen, which highlighted a section of Reach, "we got multiple Covie signatures, taking _off _from Reach. Not going on glassing runs."

"It's as if they're chasing something." Jonathon mused quietly as he heard the Supercarrier overhead blast its engines and change its direction. Glancing at the alien vessel, Jonathon turned back to Serra, "Track that carrier, where is this piece of _mierda _headed?"

Serra diligently tracked the ship's course, and displayed a trajectory onscreen. It was on an intercept course with the location of the other Covenant ships, but where was that? What were they after?

"Commander." Serra beckoned. "We got a signature of a single Halcyon-class Cruiser blasting off from the planet. It's the _Pillar of Autumn_, and we got a Priority-One hail from the ship to any and all remaining UNSC craft."

"Let them through." The Commander immediately ordered.

"_This is Captain Keyes of the __**Pillar of Autumn**__, we need immediate fire support if we want to break away from this damn blockade and get into slipspace. We need a hole. Please assist. We have the package aboard and she needs to get out of here."_

Serra turned to his C.O., "What should we do, sir? Should I send a response?"

Jonathon considered for a brief moment. Alexander, the _Midas' _onboard AI, had informed Jonathon of the 'package,' as all ship commanders were. Captain Keyes was tasked with escaping with a smart AI carrying 'mission-critical information' and taking it out of system. The _Pillar of Autumn _was the top priority, and any ship had to defend it if the vessel needed assistance. Of course, those orders were established when there was a decent amount of ships left in the fleet.

Jonathon knew Keyes was screwed if he didn't assist. Five Corvettes waited for him just outside orbit, with several Cruisers and Carriers moving in as well. If he didn't by the Captain time, then Keyes would get erased from the plasma.

He wasn't going to let people die out here, not while he could help.

The Commander stormed back to the center of the bridge and ordered, "Power us up. We're buying Captain Keyes some time." He tapped a button on the AI pedestal next to him, and a small figure of a man in ancient Macedonian battle armor appeared on the pedestal, a short-sword on its hip.

Alexander looked up and said with a grin, "Yes, Commander Gutierrez?"

"What's the skinny on that _puta gorda_?"

"Hm. I suppose you mean that Covenant Supercarrier when you say 'fat bitch?' It's on a vector to intercept the _Pillar of Autumn_. From what I can tell from the Covenant battlenet, it appears its shielding controls were damaged in a recent engagement and therefore nonfunctional."

Jonathon nodded, "So it's unguarded?"

Alexander returned the nod, "Temporarily, yes."

"Then ready the MAC guns and maneuver to take aim."

The AI grinned and disappeared from the pedestal. He loved using heavy weaponry, as a possible reflection of the counterpart he chose to model himself after, Alexander the Great. But he loved MAC guns the most, especially the dual guns aboard this ship. A single shot could destroy an unshielded Covenant ship, but two wouldn't leave much left.

The Cruiser hummed as power returned. The bridge illuminated, weapons hummed as they readied, and the hull reverberated as the engines flared to move the _Midas _into position to fire. Alexander reported happily over the intercom, _"MAC rounds loaded up. Waiting on your order, Commander."_

Jonathon stared at the Carrier as it began to distance itself from the _Midas _even further now. "OPEN FIRE!"

The ship jarred and the viewport filled with yellow light as the magnetic cannon slung two shells simultaneously at over 12,000 kilometers per second.

Explosions of yellow and bright purple flared at the rear of the Supercarrier as the shells ripped through multiple decks, immediately incinerating anything inside. Explosions followed the shells as they exited near the top half of the ship. The vessel shuddered and listed to the left as it lost power, then a tremendous blast ripped the Carrier in half, sending giant sections of purple, scorched hull into space.

"Punch it! We gotta move fast." Jonathon barked as he turned away from the marvelous destruction and checked the status of the _Autumn_. She was breaking away from orbit now, with plenty of alien signatures keeping pace.

The _Midas' _engines flared white-hot as the Cruiser blasted towards its goal, quickly maneuvering past most of the debris of the now-destroyed Covie Supercarrier. Large sections of its hull still scraped against the _Midas_, leaving Serra to utter under his breath, "Jeez, that's gonna leave a mark."

As they approached, Jonathon could see through the viewport the _Autumn _in the distance, with five Corvettes coming towards it. Corvettes weren't a large threat, considering their small size compared to a UNSC Cruiser, but in numbers these things could disable key areas on a ship and land boarding parties.

Captain Keyes called out on the radio again, _"Can anyone read? This is the Pillar of Autumn. Respond if you can hear me."_

Jonathon had Alexander open up the fleet COM, "This Commander Gutierrez of the _Greed of Midas_, ready to assist, Captain."

He could hear Keyes laugh. _"Good. Now let's mop up these freaks."_

Needing no more, Jonathon adjusted the _Midas _for an attack trajectory high and above the _Autumn _and her new-found alien friends and had Alexander fire a volley of missiles at the Corvettes. No sense in wasting MAC rounds on tiny ships like these. It seemed Keyes had the same thought as he fired his own ship-to-ship missiles before accelerating again. The unshielded Corvettes attempted to fire a lance of plasma torpedoes, but the human projectiles impacted their hulls and obliterated the alien metal like tissue paper.

Jonathon didn't like this. It seemed too easy. The Covie Cruisers should've been here by now, with the Carriers not far off.

"New contacts!" Alexander blurted as he reappeared the pedestal. "Two Cruisers came out of cloaking to our starboard side. They've taken aim for _Autumn_."

Shit. The _Midas _would have to play human-shield or let Keyes' vessel be demolished. Without hesitation, the Commander ordered, "Pull up next to the _Autumn _and intercept those plasma torpedoes, get damage control crews ready."

Keyes quickly apologized, _"I'm sorry, Commander. Our slipspace drive needs a few minutes to get hot. We'll help out as much as we can, but we have to bug out soon."_

Jonathon acknowledged him as he brought up starboard cameras. Alexander was right. Two Cruisers were right there and their respective plasma cannons burned white-hot as they fired plasma torpedoes, the balls of plasma propelling towards a waiting _Pillar of Autumn. _Jonathon yelled as the _Midas _sped closer to intercept, "All hands, brace for heavy impact!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, the vessel seemed to jar out from under his feet as the Commander slammed to the ground. Warning tones and alerts blared, which Alexander quickly silenced and reported, "Decks seven through fourteen have been hit hard. Multiple system failures in those areas…" The AI hesitated before he continued, "…MAC cannons are offline. Super-coils heavily damaged and no longer operational."

"Damn it!" Jonathon coughed as he climbed back to his feet. That was their main offensive option, their haymaker. Now they couldn't hit back with anything better than a few missiles. Nukes were out of the question, the EMP blast would get both UNSC vessels killed.

Alexander then reported again automatically. "New contact. One Supercarrier on a direct intercept course with the _Autumn_."

"Jesus… They're trying to box us in." Jonathon hissed as listened. He was running out of options. With no punch and now bloodied, his ship wouldn't take much more. He sighed as he looked up at the terminal and pressed a finger to it. Captain Keyes needed a little more time. "Alexander, set us a new course."

"And that course would be?"

Jonathon traced his finger for the bridge of the enemy Supercarrier. "Right here." A collision-course. He then ordered the AI and Serra, "Start crew evacuations immediately. I want everyone off this ship. And I mean everyone."

Another plasma blast rammed into the ship, but this time the Commander kept his footing and kept his eyes locked on his terminal and the viewport, the Carrier still out of range of its plasma torpedoes, but getting ever so closer.

Serra stood from his station, "Sir! You can't just ram the ship!"

Jonathon ignored the Lieutenant as he reached for the intercom, "All crew, evacuate the ship immediately. All hands to the lifeboats." He turned to Serra and nodded his head toward the exit, where other bridge personnel had wisely started to go through. "Get outta here kid."

Serra looked at him, and back at his station with a stare of panic. It was the first time Jonathon had seen Serra lose his composure. Serra wisely sprinted towards the exit, but stopped and saluted one last time to his Commander. Jonathon smiled and returned the salute, and then watched on as Serra left the bridge. Now it was just him and Alexander.

"Do you wish me to start erasing files, sir?" The AI inquired. Jonathon merely nodded. As he looked back through the viewport, he pondered on how much information the AI had to go through. Certainly all files of Earth were gone first, but what next? Earth was all they had left, with Reach in flames behind them.

"_This is Captain K__eyes, I'm getting multiple lifeboat readings leaving your vessel. You still there, Commander?"_

"Affirmative, sir. We lost our MAC guns and we're taking hits for you. Hull integrity is failing." Multiple Cruisers and Supercarriers gave chase behind the two speeding UNSC ships.

"_Then what in God's name are you doing, son? Pull out." _

"Negative, sir. We still got the Carrier ahead, and they're not gonna let us mosey on through. And your MAC guns can't pierce their shields."

There was a pause, followed by Keyes cautiously replying, _"So what's our course of action, then." _

Jonathon chuckled, "Well, since the _Midas _can't box anymore, she might as well play a little football."

"_You're not saying…"_

"I am sir. She can't use her fists anymore, so she's going to use her body." Jonathon smiled one more time. "I told you were getting you out of here. I'll punch the hole, Captain, and you go through."

There was a long silence before Captain Keyes replied, his voice heavy, _"I'll never forget this, Commander Gutierrez."_

With that, Jonathon cut comms with the Captain and then voiced a concern with Alexander. "Alexander? There's no way we can hit that Carrier before it realizes what we plan on doing. It's either going to move or blow us away before we get too close."

Alexander chuckled as he knew that he faced certain destruction as well. "Yes, so it would seem. I trust you have a way of compensating."

Jonathon wasted no time, "If we flash our slipspace drives for a few fractions of a second, we can gain enough velocity to hit our target without it avoiding us."

"Slipspace drives are already hot, I already figured you'd fall back on them." Alexander reported immediately.

The bridge got silent after that. No more alarms. No sound. Serra radioed the Commander informing everyone that was still alive had gotten to their lifeboats. It was just him and an AI now, on a death sentence. It was kind of relaxing, in a morbid sort of way. It felt like now, that Jonathon could think for the first time in a long time. His mind drifted back to his childhood on Reach, seeing those recruitment films and getting swept up in a collective movement to save mankind.

Alexander pulled him out of his final thoughts, "Sir? Do you ever think what you do is exactly the smartest course of action?"

Jonathon laughed as the Carrier approached, and he primed the slipspace drives to fire. "There's a difference between doing the smart thing, and the right thing. Smartest course of action would be to get the hell out, but the right thing to do is make sure Keyes' precious AI gets out."

Alexander hesitated slightly before he spoke again, with a twinge of fear, "…Sir? What is it like to die?"

"People say its many things to many people. Utter nothingness, blinding white light, but I guess we'll find out for ourselves." Jonathon replied as his finger inched closer to the switch to activate the drives.

Alexander pulled the short-sword from his hip and raised it towards the Carrier. He stood there silent like the great Macedonian once had, ready to fight and die. Jonathon pressed down on the button. The Carrier approached like lightning through clouds, with plasma blasts streaking by and slamming into the hull. The Commander got one last look at the bridge of the enemy vessel before white filled his gaze.

Then nothing.

* * *

Keyes watched as the _Greed of Midas _collided with the Supercarrier at full force, shredding through the shielding of the alien vessel and into the hull of the ship. Iridescent purple armor tore away in a violent explosion, which consumed all of the _Midas _and most of the Carrier.

Keyes took his chance and yelled to Cortana. "Do it! We got our hole!"

She acknowledged and lit the slipspace drives, and the destruction vanished into the void of slipspace.

Keyes uttered under his breath as he took out his non-regulation pipe and placed it between his lips, "God bless you, kid." What that kid did was just as brave as most Spartans. Keyes acknowledged such courage and pulled up the crew list for the _Greed of Midas _and gave the man something he deserved. He found Commander Jonathon Gutierrez, and listed him MIA.

Missing In Action.

Men like him should never die.

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	4. The Hunter

The Hunter

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**Planet Reach. Visegrad Region. July 24th**** 2552.**

Andras Mikos looked down into his scope to catch a large Moa in his crosshairs. He pondered pulling the trigger, using a high-caliber hunting round to 'remove' the flightless bird's head, but decided against it. He needed bigger prey than a simple bird. Feeding a wife and two teenage boys at home was harder than most others imagined. Lifting his green cap up, Andras wiped away from sweat from his brow as he inspected his rifle.

It was an old-fashioned, bolt-action hunting rifle. It could only fire one bullet at a time, so you had to make your rounds count. But these were big bullets, a single bullet was just enough to drop a fully-grown Gúta. _Just enough. _Andras nearly was killed by one of these large animals himself, but he managed to get his last bullet off in time.

Sighing, he rose to his feet and prepared to leave his concealed hunting perch. Nothing out here but Moa. He checked the packs on his vest, each little cylindrical holding carried a single rifle bullet. He had fifteen in all, plus one in the weapon already. As he checked over his vest, the hunter made sure to inspect his hunting knife.

It was a fine blade made of silver steel, a smooth cutting edge with a sharp point, and serrated teeth and the reverse side. Its black hilt has his name engraved in it along with the names of his wife and two children. It reminded him everyday what he hunted for, what he was providing for.

He had his old Marine Corps magnum strapped to his thigh with three clips, but he rarely used it. His Marine days in the UNSC weren't his proudest. He'd give everything to forget it all.

Suddenly, screaming and yelling broke out from nowhere, causing the Moa down below to scatter. The two gunshots rang out in succession, followed by more screaming. It was in the next valley over, and he didn't hesitate. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Andras took off in a sprint, carefully moving towards the gunfire.

He climbed to the rise of the next valley and made sure his position was concealed before he readied his rifle. Then, he pulled out his rifle again and peered down his scope, searching around the general area. His crosshairs found a disturbing sight.

A group of large, armed men were dragging people out of a large home and forcing them to their knees in the yard, hands behind their heads. They were lined up in a neat row, and Andras counted eight people held captive. The men were UNSC personnel, judging by their uniforms. Army Troopers. He could tell from their camo, weapons, and uniforms.

The group of troopers consisted of two officers, a dark-skinned Captain with scars traced allover his face, and a grizzled-looking Lieutenant, the other eight were enlisted soldiers, two high-ranked sergeants and the rest privates and corporals. Each one had a red skull stitched into their uniforms on their right arms.

The Captain berated the captive civilians in Hungarian as he marched back and forth, which Andras could decipher easily. _"You are all traitors! Traitors to your brothers and sisters, and traitors to your species! We are fighting a war for the survival of mankind, and yet you rebel. For what? Petty freedoms? Independence? Bah!"_

One of the captive women began to cry and then pleaded, _"We are farmers! Please, let us be!"_

The Captain halted and turned to the woman and smacked her hard. _"Shut up! I didn't give you permission you to speak!"_

Rage boiled in Andras' chest as his finger pressed against the trigger and his crosshairs found the Captain's forehead. This prick thought they were insurrectionists, rebels, enemies of the UNSC.

The officer turned to his men and ordered in cold English as he stormed away. "Corporal Travis. Kill them."

Andras shut his eyes as assault rifles rang out in the air. Memories flooded his brain, sending him back to a distant Outer Colony. The smell of dead bodies from years ago filled his nostrils. Images of destruction caused by him flustered his vision. He dropped his rifle as his hands began to shake violently.

Soon his fit ceased, and his vision returned to normal. Sweat dripped down his forehead, which he wiped off quickly. He ran a hand through his graying hair as he reached for his rifle. Andras nervously peered down his scope again, and his jaw dropped. Eight dead bodies laid facedown in the ground in a neat row, blood caked the dirt. The Army Troopers were gone.

Andras made his way back down the valley, back towards home. He could've stopped this, saved eight innocent lives. The UNSC had been on a hunt for Insurrectionists allover Reach, either capturing the real ones already, or downright accusing anyone of being a rebel. Andras had read about something similar, called the Salem Witch Trials. All you had to do was accuse someone else of being a witch, and they would get burnt at the stake. Or in this case, dragged out of your home and shot in the head.

Hoping over an old, fallen tree, Andras approached his home. Sebastian, the younger of his two sons at seventeen, was waiting for him by the door. He raised a brow at his father's sullen expression, _"What happened?"_

Andras shook his head and walked through the doorway. He placed his rifle against the wall and removed his hunting vest, but kept his cap as he slumped into a chair in the kitchen. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his white pack of cigarettes, and placed one in between his lips. Reaching back into his pocket, he fumbled to get his lighter out and dropped on the floor.

"_Damn it." _He cursed in his native tongue of Hungarian.

Sebastian had followed him inside, _"Your hands are shaking." _He pointed out curtly.

Snatching the lighter from the floor, Andras quickly lit the cigarette and took a long drag. He puffed out gray smoke and questioned, _"Where's your mother?"_

"_She's upstairs. She saw you come in. And she's wondering why you don't have kill with you, and why we heard machineguns."_

Andras took another drag and sighed. _"I ran into something bad…" _He faltered. Should he tell his family of what happened, not just a few valleys over?_ "Get Anthony and Iren in here."_

Anthony was the oldest son at nineteen. Both his boys were tough, and both always looked up to their father. Iren, his wife, was also of a military background. Well, not exactly. She was a part of Reach's local militia, until a few years ago. When Andras first met Iren, he thought there was no way he would even like her, much less marry and have children with. He was still a marine when they met, and they almost killed each other.

Iren came in first, followed by his other son. _"What happened? I heard gunshots."_

Andras grabbed the cigarette with his thumb and middle finger and smothered it out. He shoved both lighter and carton back in his pocket before he continued. _"I was hunting out nearby the ridges to the north, when I heard screams and two gunshots, probably from a pistol. I climbed over to the next valley to find a group of Army Troopers from the UNSC pulling out a family of eight farmers out of their home."_

He paused as anger seared his chest again. What they did reminded him with a cold touch of what he had done, but he forced it back down as his family listened intently. _"Their Captain was yelling at them, and he smacked a girl pretty hard. He accused them of being rebels, insurrectionists, and then he ordered his squad to kill them."_

Iren gasped. The UNSC was getting impatient with the rebels, but she didn't think they would resort to outright murder.

Iren switched to English, which only she and Andras understood. "Are you saying we're in danger too?"

Scratching his graying beard, Andras replied. "I don't know. It seemed to me it was the Captain who was the problem, like he'd gone insane. I think we'll be safe, though."

"_I hate it when you do that." _Anthony blurted, slightly angered. _"We are old enough to be let in on these things, father. Stop using English as a way to avoid telling us something."_

Andras chuckled as he adjusted the pistol, still strapped to his thigh. _"Sorry, my boy. We're safe from attack. I assure you of that. Now get ready for lunch, we still have leftovers."_

"_But if these men were UNSC, shouldn't we report them? Get the military's attention."_

"_Who are they going to believe, Anthony? A few, simple civilians out in the countryside, or a group of battle-hardened marines?" _

_

* * *

_Andras decided to go out and try to get a kill in before the day's end. He realized they would still need food in the long run.

He had been tracking a Moa for the last ten minutes, and readied his rifle for the shot. There had been surprisingly few animals out than usual, but he figured the gunfire from earlier spooked most of them, so he had to travel farther out into land than usual.

The hunter held his breath for the shot, when the rumble of engines disturbed the quiet air. Helicopter engines. He looked up from his rifle's optics and found two large helicopters soar overhead. Falcons. They flew onward and then floated over an area by a very large hill. The Moa yelped and sprinted off. Curiosity yet again overrode him, and so Andras slung his weapon over his shoulder and followed in suit.

He climbed to the top of the hill and peered down below. The choppers had landed and dispensed six soldiers. But these weren't ordinary soldiers. They were covered head-to-toe in armor, with helmets hiding their identities. Spartans. Mankind's toughest and most superior weapons. They were made for one reason, and one reason alone. Killing Covenant. What the hell were they doing on Reach? Reach, by all means, was probably the safest spot for humanity besides Earth.

One with a skull scratched into his helmet took the lead, scaled a rock, and scanned a facility down below. Two others followed him. A large brute with a machinegun about the size of a normal man, and another one in brownish-black armor who Andras couldn't tell the gender of. Two stayed behind, a male Spartan in blue and black armor, and a female with a robotic arm, donning a magnum.

Andras slid down the hillside and whistled sharply. The two Spartans turned and raised their respective weapons. The hunter raised his hands and showed he wasn't a foe.

The blue and black Spartan, which Andras figured was the leader called out on his radio, "Jorge? We got a civilian here. Might need you to translate."

"I speak English." Andras stated as he grinned.

The Spartan then corrected on the radio, "Never mind." He then turned to Andras and demanded, weapon still pointed at his chest. "Who are you, why are you armed?"

"My name is Andras, I'm a hunter. Saw the Falcons go overhead, decided to check it out. Mind telling me what you Spartans are doing here?"

The female hissed back, "_We _don't have to tell you anything, civilian. I suggest you head back where you came from."

The male glared at her and then looked towards Andras, his gold visor shining in the light. "We're out here looking for a group of insurrectionists, they possibly took down a relay station not far from here, you seen any?"

Andras huffed. "I saw a group of Army Troopers murder a group of civilians, thinking they were rebels. I suggest you find them and make them pay before I do."

Though he couldn't see their faces, Andras could tell the female was particularly taken aback, judging by her body language. The male Spartan stayed firm as he began to turn, "We'll make sure to file a report and get these guys. But you might want to avoid this area for the next few days."

"You better make sure those bastards are dead, before I will."

With that, he turned back up for the hill and began to climb it to the top. He paused and looked back. The Spartans had regrouped at the facility, near a Warthog jeep that was in flames. Andras looked away, and something caught his eye. A small group of people in the distance. His stomach went ice-cold as he looked through his scope. Those troopers were there, in the distance, going through more homes. The murderers. Ignoring the Spartan's warning, Andras sprinted along the hill and towards the homes. One thought was on his mind as he readied his rifle.

He slid to a stop at the top of a ledge a couple hundred meters away, and went prone. He crawled to the edge and looked down. The troopers' numbers were greatly reduced, down to He could see the Captain within the group of three, a panicked look on his face and a pistol in hand. They all seemed scared of something, as if they were running away. The other two troopers approached a building and sprinted to its front door and kicked it in, their weapons set. They yelled and stormed inside. The murderous Captain followed.

Screams and gunfire rang out, followed by a guttural roar. More gunfire, then nothing. Andras waited five minutes, then ten. After fifteen minutes, he finally made the decision to move out and made his way off the ledge and approached the building with caution, his rifle leading the way. Carefully, he nudged the kicked-in door open with the barrel of his gun to find a grisly site. Two soldiers were found in a dark room, one slumped over next to a barrel, one held up by a meat hook with large slashes across his chest. Blood was spattered everywhere on the ground. Dead civilians were in the room as well. Their wounds weren't consistent with gunshots.

The soldier held up by the meat hooks raised his head and spat blood from his mouth. "They're here…"

Andras approached the soldier. Upon closer inspection, the hunter found that this man was the murderous Captain. He said with rage obvious in his voice. "Hello, Captain. How did this happen to you?"

"They're here…" He repeated, more blood dripped from his mouth. "The Cov-"

Andras grabbed the Captain by the cheeks and forced him to look the hunter in the eyes. "Shut up. I don't give a damn who did this to you, but whoever did it, I'll have to thank personally. It's the least you deserve for killing innocents."

The officer grinned and weakly chuckled, "Please… they had weapons, and probably had killed a few people with them. I lost ten guys from my unit to Innies like them."

Andras pulled his magnum from his holster and pressed it against the wound in his chest and hissed, "Give me one reason why I shouldn't blow a hole in your chest right now, _Captain_?"

The Captain's head slumped back down as he weakly whispered before dieing from his wounds, "That thing… behind you."

Andras twirled around to find a seven-foot tall monster standing over him. It donned dark red armor from head-to-toe with an intricate headpiece, similar to a Samurai's. The monster's dark black eyes stared down at Andras before it roared, revealing four, spilt-apart mandibles for a mouth. It swung a strong fist and caught the man right in the gut, slamming him against the wall, next to the now-dead Captain. His rifle flew away, along with his pistol. Andras slid to the floor and gasped for air.

The beast approached again and laughed confidently. Andras' eyes fell to his right, to find a shotgun on the ground. He snatched it up and fired the first shot wildly. Most of the buckshot missed, but just enough hit the monster. The beast lit up like the sun for a moment as it staggered back from the blast, showing it was protected by a personal shielding system.

Andras hadn't seen shielding technology like that since he was fighting on the Outer Colonies against… the Covenant. His senses returned like a flood. This freak was an Elite, one of the Covenant's strongest warriors. And it was on… Reach. Dear god, the Covies found Reach.

The Elite charged again, and Andras pumped the shotgun and returned fire. The Elites' shielding failed and fizzed out, causing the warrior to dive away and sprint off. Out of breath, the hunter dropped the shotgun and stumbled to his feet. "Oh god…" He panted. He had to get back, get off this damn planet. Before the Covies got to his… family.

Andras grabbed his rifle and magnum and escaped the small house. He sprinted back the way he came, and briefly considered warning the Spartans, that shouldn't be too far off, but decided against it. They could handle themselves, and he didn't have much time left to waste. As he scaled up a large hill and back through the valleys of Visegrad, he heard plasma and gunfire in the distance, showing that the Spartans found their enemies.

A low rumble of alien engines filled Andras' ears, and he immediately dove to the dirt, between a few bushes. A large Covenant ship flew overhead and hovered over the concealed hunter. A Spirit Dropship, more commonly referred to as tuning forks by UNSC folk, because that's the way they were designed. Like giant, flying tuning forks.

Sweat dripped over Andras as he waited his bated breath, the ship not moving over him, just staying there. Its turret slowly scanned over the landscape, as if searching for people to burn to ash. He just noticed the barrel was glowing a dark red, showing a recent firing.

"Come on… come on…" He uttered as the craft yet again refused to leave. Its engines suddenly came to life again and glided off, back towards the Spartans. The hunter jumped to his feet and sprinted off again, putting all the power in his legs.

Hopping over a fallen tree, the land around Andras became familiar and his feet began to guide him home, without him needing to think about it. Black smoke rose over the valleys near his house. His pace quickened until he turned the final corner.

His home burned with the fires that originated from plasma, black smoke cascaded into the air like a dark tree. Flames licked the surrounding area, consuming everything. He stumbled as he approached, the air getting hot, and then dropped to his knees as he saw two blackened bodies, burned severely from plasma. Sebastian and Anthony.

His eyes found Iren, untouched from plasma, but it seemed she met an even worse fate. Her blood caked the ground and her rifle, not far from her, or what was left. What remained of Iren was only waist up, everything below was cut away with a hot blade of alien fire.

He dropped his hunting rifle as tears dropped down his face. Andras crawled to his wife and cupped her cheek, cold as ice. Sobs quickly came, he couldn't believe it. He was too damn slow, and the Covies destroyed his home and family in one fell swoop.

He didn't even tell them he loved them as he left earlier.

Wailing, Andras brought his forehead down to hers, wishing for everything to change. Wishing it was him.

He shot back up and screamed into the air as Reach's sun began to set, his primal wail echoed throughout the valleys and hills of Visegrad. He didn't care if any aliens or insurrectionists heard him, let them come. He'd rather die here then be without his wife, his sons, his family. Hot streaks of liquid dribbled down his cheeks as he stared at what was left of his family and home.

Behind him, he heard the chuckles of two Elites. He didn't notice them at first, most likely camouflaged as he made his way home. One 'smiled' as it put away its plasma rifle and reached for its plasma blade and activated it.

Andras sat there, his rifle at his knees, ignoring the monsters behind him, who would gleefully cut into him. It approached Andras while its partner watched from behind. The Elite stood over the hunter and raised his blade, the hot plasma eager to sear more human flesh. The warrior prepared to slash.

Snatching his rifle from the ground, the hunter turned on his knees, swinging his rifle as hard as he could, right for the alien's jaw as he roared like a feral beast. The butt of his rifle made harsh contact, and the seven foot tall beast stumbled backward and roared in surprise. The other Elite sprinted for the hunter, who in turn flipped his rifle over and pulled the trigger. Kicking back, the rifle spat out the high-caliber bullet.

The projectile ripped straight through the Elite's armor, with no shielding to protect it. A four-inch wide hole ripped open as the bullet tore through alien flesh, out the front and out the back. These bastards were so confident, they didn't keep their personal shielding online.

The Elite fell to the ground dead as the other one ran back towards the hunter, two of its four mandibles hanging uselessly down, broken from the rifle to its face. The hunter gripped his rifle in one hand and yanked his pistol from his holster with the other. He unleashed all the rounds in the magazine with no hesitation.

With each bullet, gore sprayed as the alien stumbled backwards and garbled in pain. It fell down to its back just as Andras ran out of bullets, the barrel of his weapon smoked. He holstered the weapon and approached the Elite, rifle back in both hands. The monster barely clung to life, blood dripping from its sick little mouth.

It uttered something as it placed its hand on its helmet, pressing down on a small button. Andras placed his left boot onto the Elites chest as he pulled back the bolt of his hunting rifle, letting the empty shell fall to the ground as he grabbed a new bullet from his vest.

"Yeah, call your friends…" Andras uttered as he placed the bullet into the chamber, and forced the bolt back in with a loud clack. He jabbed the barrel against the Elite's forehead and waited for the alien to stop speaking. As soon as he did, the hunter pulled the trigger, splattering alien blood onto Reach's soil.

"Let 'em come." He grunted as he wiped away alien blood from his face. The hunter would die right here, with his family. Nowhere else. He stood amongst the bodies of families and murderers alike, and he waited. He wouldn't have to for very long.

A tuning fork appeared in the darkening Reach sky, and it immediately dropped a single Elite off. The alien from before, with the blood red armor. It approached Andras slowly as the Spirit flew off. It huffed and looked over the hunter before giving a nod of respect. This may have been the first time ever an alien had looked upon a human with respect in any form, treating him like an equal for a brief moment in time.

The Elite dropped its plasma pistol to the ground, along with its rifle and grenades. One of its hands pressed against its chest plate, and the Elite's personal shielding fizzled out. It then removed its helmet, exposing black, smooth skin underneath. Scars traced all along the alien's skin, leading down to its neck and beyond. It presented its right forearm and pressed a button on the red gauntlet that was attached. A blade sparked to life, but much smaller than the usual swords these warriors had carried. This blade was meant for defense, or even closer combat that even the sword would allow.

This thing wanted an honest fight, between two adversaries. Between two hunters.

Andras glared at the beast as he lifted his rifle into the air and pulled trigger. The weapon cracked out for miles as the round was spent. He threw the weapon to the side and pulled out his magnum. He ejected the empty clip and threw the sidearm to the ground. The hunter unzipped his vest and threw the cap he wore off his head. He snatched the knife from its sheath and let the vest fall from his shoulders.

He looked down at the knife in his hand, back at the names of his family. _Iren. Anthony. Sebastian._

If anything, he would fight for them, even though he knew he wouldn't win. He looked up at the waiting Elite and got into a combat stance, giving the alien a nod.

The Elite looked over him one final time with black eyes, before getting ready itself.

It immediately charged for Andras, roaring as it did. The hunter stood fast and tensed his muscles, ready for its attack. He then outstretched his arms, and the Elite swung the blade upward, right through his left bicep. The hunter screamed as he fell to his back, the only sensation was a numb burning from his stump of an arm. It didn't bleed, as the hot plasma cauterized it as it sliced through at the same time.

Andras looked up towards the sky as his head rested against the dirt, seeing nothing but stars out in the darkening sky. His fingers slowly released his knife and let it drop onto the ground, next to its owner.

The hunter turned his head to see his wife to his right, not far from him. He reached out and touched her cheek with his remaining hand. His vision began to fade slowly, going from clear to darker and darker.

"Sebastian, Anthony… Iren… I'm coming."

The Elite growled something in its own language, sounding like some sort of prayer or chant, either way it didn't matter to Andras. He only thought of his family in his last few moments on Reach.

The alien drove his blade right into the human's chest, and all breath left the man.

* * *

Review.


	5. Defiance Part 1

Defiance Part 1

Haven't been here in a while, decided I wanted to finish this all up in a little two parter.

Enjoy.

* * *

**Mars, Gagarin City, 2629. 77 Years After the Human-Covenant War.**

"Grandpa… were you in the war?"

The old man opened up his blue eyes, to find a young child sitting before his chair on the floor, legs crisscrossed as he stared up at him.

His voice came out like gravel in reply, "How do you know you about the war?"

"We learned about it today, in school." The child replied, his piercing blue orbs staring back at the old man's. "And Misses Anders asked if we had any relatives who fought. Daddy said no, so did Mommy. What about you?"

Uncomfortable sensations flowed through the elder's body, the harsh feeling of a drill sergeant bearing down on you wasn't dulled by age, nor the pain of plasma searing your skin to char. The hot blood of friends covering you, as they begged for help. The angry kick of your gun as you took an enemy's life.

It all came to him like a flood that couldn't be dammed up.

Unconsciously, his hand went up to his ribs. He could feel the scars underneath his thin shirt. Shivers raced up his spine as he finally replied, "Yes, David. I was in the war."

Holding out his shaky hands, he motioned little David to stand up. Straining, he lifted the child onto his good leg, to other too thin now to hold anything but his own weight, and even on a good day that was a challenge. The child kept his eyes locked on his grandfather.

"Did you fight?"

He almost laughed, but instead allowed only a smile, "You better believe it." Sniffing, he closed his eyes again and asked slowly, "I'm guessing you want to hear a story?"

David smiled, showing his gapped, pearly-white teeth, "Yes please, Grandpa."

And then he tried to remember what happened all those years ago. Back when he was still young, still a fighter in a conflict that swept across entire star systems, claiming billions of lives. A needless conflict that nearly threw mankind past the brink of extinction. The harsh memories came back to the old man easily enough, and soon he told his tale to the young child in his lap.

* * *

**2552. Aboard UNSC Cruiser **_**Arcturus**_**. In Earth's Upper Orbit.**

"_Request denied, Commander. That's final."_

Jackson couldn't believe what he was hearing. This was their only chance to go back, to save _thousands_ from death, and he was being told to stay put. To cower while the Covies burnt away what was left of his home and its inhabitants.

Officially, what was left of Reach's navy was ordered to follow the Cole Protocol and then make a jump for Earth, to receive repairs, rearm, and bolster Home Fleet. Until recently, Jackson had no major problem with the plan, it actually did him and the rest of the crew a little good seeing a planet that wasn't set ablaze by plasma.

But within hours of returning, long-range comms picked up a distress beacon that personnel aboard the _Arcturus _received and forwarded to Jackson.

It was a distress signal, issued by a Gunnery Sergeant Buck, an ODST. He claimed that he and his squad managed to find a large group of civilians in a fallout bunker in mountain range, so far safe from the glassing. Rescue was immediately requested.

And Command was giving him the finger.

"Lord Hood, please." Jackson hissed, unable to take 'no' for an answer, not with people's lives on the line. "If there are civilians and marines still trapped back there, I say we shouldn't leave them. Reach hasn't been completely glassed yet, meaning there _will_ be survivors."

The man on the screen sighed, his shoulders slumped, _"And by the time we respond, the planet will be totally glassed, all those civilians dead."_

"We have to try." Jackson pleaded. "If we leave them behind, then we're no worse than the Covenant. Give me a chance, sir. Home Fleet won't miss one cruiser, and I can run the _Arcturus_, all systems dark. The Covies won't know we're there."

"_Home Fleet won't miss one cruiser? Commander, are you insane? Do you realize that we don't have anywhere else to go? Reach is getting glassed as we speak, most of her fleet gone, you and a handful of vessels are the only exceptions." _Hood kept his calm demeanor, but his voice was laden with anger and frustration. _"Once they find Earth, and those bastards eventually will, the UNSC is going to need every ship it has."_

"And the UNSC will need every man and woman it can get as well."

Hood remained silent, his eyes drifted from Jackson's. After a moment, the Fleet Admiral nodded, _"You and your ship will be sent back to Reach, alone. Evac those civvies and marines if you can, if not, make damn sure you don't lead those Covie bastards back to us. Hood out."_

The Commander saluted the screen as it faded away, before he turned to Lieutenant Bern. "Set a course for Reach, make sure we go dark before the Covies can pick us up."

Nodding, the woman belayed the orders to the rest of the bridge's crew.

Jackson took one last glance at Earth. MAC Stations waited in her orbit, some fully constructed, others still being hastily built by zero-g crews. Various naval vessels littered everywhere, all of them carried battle scars from previous engagements.

He guessed the _Arcturus _would have a few more before this was all over.

* * *

**Planet Reach, Centaur Mountain Range. August 30th****, 2552.**

Jacoby couldn't believe that he was still here, still on this god forsaken rock.

It had been a full week since he was evacuated from New Alexandria, a full week since Staff Sergeant Marshall and Dirty stayed behind as hellfire fell down around them. A full week since Jacoby was dragged to a barely intact medical center while the civilians were given a first-class ticket to Earth. This center was where he received a rush-job of a treatment for his stab wounds before being sent back out into the field.

Sam had stuck with Jacoby every step of the way, the Bullfrog being the only familiar face that the Sergeant knew, everyone else from the Wolf Pack was dead. Gave a new meaning to the term 'lone wolf' that's for sure.

Since then, a trooper from the 11th ODST picked both of them up, a Gunnery Sergeant by the name of Edward Buck.

Jacoby didn't like him. The guy was uptight one moment, then chummy with you the next, only to come back as an asshole seconds later. But Jacoby respected him, a fellow Hell Jumper was a welcome sight in a place filled with Army troopers like Sam.

Buck seemed to know what he was doing, so when he came around asking for a few extra hands for a special op, Jacoby jumped to it. Sam followed.

But if Buck had told Jacoby they'd be searching for leftover civilians out in what was left of Reach's wilderness, eventually leading them to the Centaur Mountains…Well, the Bullfrog would've politely declined with a 'screw you.'

And now they were stuck in an old fallout shelter with about three dozen civvies. The shelter itself was dark, damp, smelled like shit, and cramped as hell. You couldn't exhale without your breath hitting someone in the back of the head. Despite the conditions, Jacoby found himself a corner to nap in, next to Rummy.

Rummy was with Buck when he recruited Jacoby. She was a fellow ODST, a good-looking one at that. Platinum blonde hair and amber eyes complemented a great figure, even with all her armor on. Too bad she was a complete bitch, kinda manly too. She was fond of smoking, cursing, spitting, and had an annoying habit of talking nonstop about how she earned every scar on her body.

The woman lit up another cigarette as she jarred Jacoby right out of his nap, giving him a hard slap over the helmet.

"Agh, Jesus. What was that for?"

She pointed to her cheek, tracing a line down from the end of her eyebrow to her jaw line, "I ever tell you how I got this scar right here?"

Jacoby lowered his head again, shutting his eyes, "No, and I don't want to know, but you'll probably tell me anyways."

Another smack to the crown of his helmet, "Damn straight I will. You see, there was this Jackal, right? Little bastard tried to get smart with me, using his buddies to distract me while he tried to flank me, right?" Jacoby didn't respond, which earned him another smack, "So what it did, after I killed its friends with a grenade, was tackle me." She puffed from her cancer stick, letting gray smoke drift from her nostrils, "So it tries to claw at my face, gets one of its claws to dig right there and dragged it down the side of my face. So you know what I did?"

Jacoby groaned as he scooted away, just out of her smacking range, "What'd you do, huh?"

Rummy grinned, lifting her hands into the air to demonstrate her next few actions, "I grabbed it by its lower jaw and the back of its head, and twisted 'til I heard a snap, right? Turns out, the thing was still alive when I got back up, this thing still twitching at my feet. So I had to shoot it not once, but twice to actually put it down."

Rolling his eyes, the Bullfrog asked, "Any reason you needed to tell me that? I was having a nice dream."

The fellow ODST shrugged, "I don't know, you're the only one who listens anymore. Buck's heard all of my stories, Haggard and Luis seem offended whenever I tell them, and that Jenner kid looks like he'll heave every time I mention a bit of entrails."

Jacoby's eyes drifted throughout the shelter, the layout was compromised of a main housing area, which they and most of the civvies resided in. There were a few bathrooms, one kitchen and food storage room, and the comms station.

Haggard, a big marine from some ship that crash-landed on Reach, just exited one of the bathrooms with a content grin on his face. He was tall with a barrel chest, arms and legs thick with muscle and hair as white as snow. With his own fair share of scars, Haggard had seen a lot of combat, his skill with heavier weapons had kept him alive through most of them.

Luis wasn't present, out on scouting duty at the moment, keeping watch for Covies. Like Jenner, Luis was Army. But on their way up this damn mountain, Jacoby personally saw the man's skill with a rifle, and was impressed. Luis was able to pick the feathers off a bird at several hundred yards without killing the thing. He wasn't nearly as tall nor as burly as Haggard, but he definitely not scrawny.

That was the bulk of their mish-mash team now. Jacoby remembered two others, a girl named Miri and techie by the name of Donalds. Miri was Army, kind of cute, black hair. Donalds was Navy, on the same ship as Haggard that crashed. He barely talked, his pale skin illuminated by the data-pad he always kept reading.

Even with the thick walls of the shelter, you could still hear the ominous thunder that was a plasma bombardment, annihilating a city, turning the landscape to glass.

The children within would cry when they heard that sound, their parents or caretakers would obviously try to comfort them.

Haggard would stare at the ceiling, as if expecting a pillar of fire to burst through. Rummy didn't seem to care, still smoking away. Both Donald and Miri would nervously fidget around.

Sam was asleep, but the man twitched nervously in any case, as if the alien thunder penetrated his dreams.

And Jacoby? The Bullfrog just got angry whenever he heard it, knowing innocents were dieing and bit after bit of his home was slowly being burnt away.

Then silence. Just like that, it stopped.

Buck stormed from the comm room, a look of relief on his face.

"What's the story, skipper?" Haggard asked as he turned to the man.

"Got our signal out to a cruiser before it left the system, the UNSC _Arcturus_. Took 'em a while to respond, but we'll have pickup within six or seven hours." Buck announced, proud that he got an old communications system, which seemed to be at least twenty years old, running again.

"Yeah, if we live long enough to reach the end of those seven hours." Donald muttered to himself in the corner, a little louder than he thought.

"The fuck is your problem?" Rummy hissed from across the room, getting to her feet.

The techie snorted, lifting his eyes from data-pad he was reading, "Do you honestly think the Covies won't find us? And when they do you think we'll be able to hold them back? ONI sent practically a battalion of Spartans at them and they didn't stop jack shit."

Gritting his teeth, the Gunnery Sergeant lifted a finger and warned, "Check your tone, soldier. If you haven't noticed, you're scaring the civvies."

It was true, every civilian turned their attention to the techie sitting in the corner. Some were angry, others began to cry, believing they were doomed to die in that shelter.

Donald didn't care as he rose to his feet, "Quit living in a fantasy, Buck. We're screwed. Every single one of us. They're gonna bring a cruiser overhead and turn us all to glass come in here and slaughter us like pigs, and that's if we're lucky. They might just come down here, Elites first. Yeah," he licked his lips. "They'll string us up to the ceiling, flay us alive, take our heads as trophies…"

Making her way across the room, Rummy clenched a fist. Buck just watched. Donald continued.

"…and then the Jackals and Skirmishers will come, eat what's left of us." More civilians stood, mostly men. Looks like it was more than just Rummy who was willing to shut the techie up.

But the woman beat them all to it, smashing the her fist against the man's nose, sending him back to the floor. She then drove a boot into his ribs, "You little shit! There are _kids _here, man!" Another kick from her boot, she felt a bone break. She kept going, every word was another blow to his torso, "What. Are. You. Thinking!"

Donald was whimpering now, cursing and even _crying_.

Buck had seen enough, and he ordered the woman to stop. Growling, she got in one final blow before storming back to her old spot, lighting up another cancer stick.

Sighing, the ODST in charge walked towards the crumpled form of Donald and knelt by him. Scanning him with his eyes, Buck whispered, "You okay there, bucko?"

"Screw you." Donald spat, both hands pressed against his broken rib.

"Good to know." Buck huffed. "Now, once you've cooled off a bit, I'll bring you some painkillers. Until then, I suggest you keep that lovely little trap of yours shut tight, you read me?"

Donald sniffed, a stream of blood flowed from his left nostril.

"We're going to die, aren't we?" He croaked.

"Us?" The ODST cocked his head to the side, a big grin on his face began to form. "We won't die. God doesn't want us to die, you see. We're too damn pretty." He patted the man's cheek, "I mean, just look at those…pale cheeks. Too pretty."

Buck's transponder went off, prompting the Sergeant to stand and turn, "Go ahead, Luis."

"_Sir, I got something on thermals." _The man reported with hesitation, unsure of what he was seeing.

"Is it Covie?"

"_I don't think so, sir… Well I'll be damned."_

Buck started getting uneasy, civvies looked up at him, "What? What is it, Luis? Talk to me."

"_Buck, we got ourselves a __Spartan__ climbing our mountain."_

* * *

I'll try to get Part 2 up soon, but no promises.

And yes, I made a Firefly reference.

Peace.


End file.
